The Ball
by AYoungLazyWriter
Summary: Shameless self promotion for an original story i shall be posting on FictionPress. After agreeing to go to a ball, Phillip encounters a certain Count and the two spend most of the night studying a painting and speaking of both social and political matters


**So before you begin reading, allow me to remind you all that this is my own interpretation of our esteemed Prince of Darkness. This also may or may not be shameless self promotion for a story I will be working on and possibly publishing in the near future as an original story.**

He always hated social gatherings. Ever since he had been turned, Phillip loathed to be around humans. Even nearly a century later, he had not gotten used to the smell of the human blood, especially when surrounded by it. Yet this was a gathering, he could not miss, especially since Fitzgerald had practically begged him to attend.

His horse waited for him outside the door. Phillip managed a smile as he adjusted his hat, in a vain effort to block the sun from his eyes. Julius has always been a trusted companion. Originally a Christmas gift from Fitzgerald, the horse had been a loyal companion, never once letting him down.

"You remember the way to Fitzgerald's, don't you?" Phillip asked as he adjusted the bridle.

The horse snorted and stamped a foot, earning a chuckle from Phillip, who patted his neck. Julius wasted no time in breaking into a gallop once Phillip sat on the saddle.

Fitzgerald did not live far from Phillip's small flat in the nearby village. In fact, the home was Phillip's own before he gave it to Fitzgerald once the boy became of age. The wealth was also Phillip's, though legally, it was Fitzgerald's. Radford Manor was a large estate with an equally large home. Lush forests and fields surrounded the Manor which then led into the moors, a bleak and often unforgiving place. Phillip often took walks there, sometimes joined by Fitzegarld.

"Have a good ride, Father?" Fitzgerald asked as he led Phillip to the stables.

"Aye," Phillip replied, "I assume the Manor is still in perfect condition while in your care?"

Fitzgerald nodded, "It's your home too. You don't have to stay in small flats or inns."

Phillip waved away his concerns, "Nay. I enjoy the solitude that a small room provides. And the Manor is yours. Unless I am a guest, I see no reason to bother you with my prescence. I know young miss Abigail is not comfortable in my prescence."

The dancing hall had been equiped with an electric chandelier, Phillip noted upon entering. Fitzegarld had long since left him to greet the guests. A waiter offered him a wine glass, one which he gladly accepted as he circulated the room. He was studying a recently purchased painting that hung on the walls when he heard a voice from behind.

"Your boy has done vonders to zhe Manor."

Phillip turned, with a small smile and bowed, "My lord. it has been a while."

Vladimir returned the bow, "Zhe years have veen kind to you, Phillip."

"Thank you, my lord," Phillip said as he took a sip of his wine, "How isTransylvania? I hear you had a small problem regarding the villagers."

Vlad scoffed, "Eet ees of importance. Zhey only felt zhe need to express their feelings tovards my return. I have grown used to their mobs. Zhey are meaningless.

"And vhat of your life here in England? Any new street rats you have decided to zake unde, your ving?"

Phillip chuckled, "No, old friend. And Fitzegarld was not a street rat."

Vladimir raised an eyebrow, "As I recall, your boy tried to steal my pocket vatch on our first meeting."

"Well he was only a boy," Phillip defended, "Fresh off the streets."

"And no discipline," Vlad continued, "In my day, a boy like zhat would have his ears boxed for attempting to steal from someone, especially me. It was only out of respect for you zhat I held back."

Phillip swirled his glass, "You take in a street kid, and then tell you would raise a hand at him."

"Renfield is enough company," Vlad replied.

The two men stood in silence. Neither spoke a word to each other, as they studied the painted, or were lost in their thoughts. It was the Count that broke the silence.

"Marlowe has been spotted in England," he said, watching Phillip, "He is most likely searching for insurgents, or possibly you."

Phillip raised an eyebrow, "I fail to see how I am of importance, my lord."

"Next to me," the Count said, "You are zhe most vell respected vampire among us. Marlowe hopes zhat by gaining your support he will svay more vampires to his side in hopes of overthrowing me."

Edward Marlowe had been the Count's rival ever since he rose to power. Marlowe had tried and failed to perform a succesful assassination attempt, often employing vampire hunters or performing the deed himself. He has evaded capture to the point were he makes a game out of it. He is also responsible for Phillip's vampirism.

"The man ruined my life," Phillip replied calmly, "He expects I will support him after turning me into this?"

"Edvard is mad," the Count pointed out, "Unhinged even. He believed he vas doing you a favor."

Phillip scoffed. The Count placed a hand on his shoulder, "I assure you, Phillip. I have my men searching high and low for him. Vhen ve find him, I vill let you know."

Phillip nodded and returned his attention to the painting. The Count took his leave, dissappearing into the crowds and out of sight, possibly out of the manor to begin his journey back to Transylvania. Phillip downed his wine glass and placed it on a table. He caught Fitzgerald's eye and gave him a silent nod before exiting.

He had stayed to long and needed a pub always had a reliable drunk passed out near the back.

 **So…**

 **what do you guy's think? Want to know more about Phillip? Want to see more Drac? Just go to fiction press where I shall post Phillip's life, both modern and past as a series of one shots. Taking ideas as well.**


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